Peachfuzz and Thunderstorms
by The Weaver Atropos
Summary: Things in life are oft taken for granted. Sometimes it's hard to see the love that lies beneath life's simple touches. And sometimes, what appears to be one thing, is really another. Some even dare to say that love follows lust. RanKen


* * *

_**Peachfuzz and Thunderstorms  
**The Weaver Atropos  
Time Frame: ((_Started: June 12, 2005 9:42--52 AM))(( June 25, 2005 9:30— 12:00 P.M.))  
_Comments:_ it occurred to me that no one had ever written a ficcy/drabble about the Weiss shaving, which…I thought was interesting, since they _have_ to shave. Anyway, by the end, the story had morphed. Just know that…I wanted to portray a _different_ Aya and a different Ken. I like the way it came out…even if I might be a bitoverbearing with the symbolism.

* * *

**_Peachfuzz_**

"Ne, Ken-kun, when'd you start shaving?"

The brunette gave a curious upwards glance at the question, resting his eyes thoughtfully on the smooth curvature of Omi's chin. He shrugged a little. "I don't really shave."

"Aren't you…too old for that?"

Ken paused in his chewing his pencil's eraser, and cast the younger man a glare. "I don't really see what all the fun would be in shaving."

Omi shrugged. "Just wondering."

* * *

"Ne…Aya-kun?" 

A nod on his part and the youth continued, "When'd you start shaving?"

Aya bristled slightly and pursed his lip in thought. "When I was seventeen."

"Really?"

Another nod.

* * *

"Youji-kun!" 

"What's up, chibi?"

"When'd you start shaving?"

The tall blonde placed the terra cotta pots he'd been carrying on the edge of the counter, "When I was fifteen, give or take, why?"

"No reason."

* * *

"Ne…Aya?" 

"Hmm?"

Ken frowned as he stared at his reflection. "You don't shave, do you?"

His question was followed by a bit of a smile on the redhead's part. "Has Omi been talking to you about that, too?"

Ken shrugged, "You _don't_ shave, right?"

Aya stood from his perch by the window, putting down his book and making his way towards the brunette. He rested his chin on the crook of the man's neck, and nudged him playfully, "I do."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do."

The shorter man glared and shook off his lover's embrace. "I've never seen you do it."

"You never stay long enough to."

There was a longing in his words, and by then, Ken knew the redhead well enough to guess when there was bitterness in his voice. "Aya—"

But the redhead had already moved away and was back in his chair, reading his book, back slightly turned away from him.

* * *

Ken tapped his pencil absently alongside the edge of the Koneko's counter, lost in thought, guilt steadily seeping into him—biting at his conscious. Somehow, the redhead's words had hit a sour chord in him, particularly because deep down he knew Aya'd been right. He never stayed. There was always some excuse, always some circumstance…always _something_ that kept him from spending the entire night with the tall leader of Weiss. And, last night had proven that he wasn't blind to the fact. 

"Ken-kun?"

"Yeah?"

"You're denting the counter."

"Oh…"

He let go of the pencil easily enough, unaware that Omi's intervention had been a playful one, and leaned against the shelving unit behind him. The jutting wood bruised at his back, but he closed his mind to the fact. It was a punishment he very well deserved, anyway.

It had been crazy, their first time together. Somehow…the adrenaline rush of the mission had stayed with them, and before either had a chance to form any type of cognitive thought, they'd already become entangled in Ken's dark blue sheets, the redhead's pale skin tinged pink at all his ministrations. A lot of things had gone on, a few—Ken realized—which he'd been blind to. There was the man's need, for one, that was nearly vulnerable in all its fervor. The brunette would wager, not out of any self-delusion, that Aya _hadn't_ lost himself entirely to his sensations that night.

He'd been thinking. He'd been lucid. And he'd given himself freely just the same.

Ken felt remorse nip at him.

* * *

**_Thunderstorms_**

The night was cool. Aya's touch was as soft as ever, smooth and graceful like everything else that characterized him. Ken stirred at the caress that was placed at his cheek, blinking open blearly chocolate eyes to stare up at the redheaded man. He wished he could return the man's barely perceptible smile, but he felt a tart bubbling in the pit of his stomach when he tried to. And, despite himself, he didn't know which was worse: the wavering quality of Aya's smile as he awaited reciprocation, or the fact that the redhead _knew_ it wouldn't be returned.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—when the redhead sat up abruptly, reached for his clothes, and made for the bathroom. His body was tight and his motions rigid. "Aya—"

The redhead paused, his entire body shaking with anger, and waited for him to continue. His skin gleamed in the moonlight, the sheen of sweat on his body giving him an ethereal quality and making him shiver at the sudden cold. "What?" the voice was weak, almost broken. Uncharacteristic.

"Don't…"

He hesitated to leave then, looking for all the world as though he longed to crawl back in beside the chocolate-haired youth, before stiffening in resolve.

Ken watched him leave with surprised eyes.

* * *

"Where's Aya?" 

Youji shrugged at the question, brushing back a few strands of his hair and holding them in place as he drank his coffee. "Left early this morning. Didn't say where."

Ken nodded at the information, frowning to himself, and cast a weary look at the kitchen clock. Seven-fifteen.

* * *

"Aya?" 

It was the first time since they'd been together that the redhead's door had been locked. He knocked at the oak door, not knowing what he was going to say, or why he was even standing in front of the man's room.

It was dark once more, and he could hear the television running some variety show downstairs. So, Youji had gotten home already, too. He tried again. "Aya…?"

He tried the knob again and discovered the lock had been set off. Frowning, and easing the door open slowly, he looked inside. He could see Aya, curled in the middle of his couch, covered with a mound of blankets as he took in the scene outside his window. It was dark, and their street afforded no light, and Ken knew there was nothing—save the stars—that the redhead could be looking at.

"Can I come in?"

There was no response and the answer was obvious enough, anyway. He was already inside.

He approached the man despite himself, rubbing at his elbow self-consciously, and stopped a few paces before he reached him. "I'm sorry."

Still no answer.

"I didn't…mean it that way."

Aya shifted, and pulled the blanket over his head, like a child refusing to acknowledge a reality.

He was vulnerable. So vulnerable…behind that anger and that need for revenge, there was a battered and broken Ran Fujimiya that yearned and screamed to be comforted. It was evident in times like these, when he coiled in on himself and hid his face.

"How _did_ you mean it then?" The voice was hoarse and strained, a bare whisper he labored to hear.

He had shifted the slightest bit, so that his body was turned towards him, though he was still covered under that mound of blankets. He was waiting for a response. "I…I don't know."

_"And in tonight's news…three children were found dead near a library…witnesses say…" _

"I hate the noise from the tv."

"Hmm, what?" Ken took a few steps closer at the man's words, watching him rub at his eyes before pulling the sheets down slightly.

"I hate the news."

"Don't we all."

And it was okay, after that. But Aya didn't smile at him again for a long time.

* * *

"You're beautiful." 

He didn't believe him. He never did. Aya turned a deaf ear to the comment and turned on his side, away from the brunette. He closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing. Invite sleep in all its many forms, and, undoubtedly, it'll come.

He could still feel Ken's fingertips on his spine, lingering as they always did, yearning to elicit a response from him that never came. And he merely remained as he was, letting those smooth digits make their way down the naked expanse of his back, his breathing as quiet as it ever was. "Aya…?"

He shifted minutely, so that the mattress creaked vaguely, and squeezed his eyes tighter shut.

It was raining outside.

* * *

He liked sitting out in the rain. It was one of those solaces that served a double function as his penance. The rain fell around him in sheets, and though he shivered, he didn't go inside. He was vaguely aware of the thunder that rumbled, and the bright lights of the lightning, but things like that had never scared him. Even when he was a child, he'd always been fascinated by it. It had never frightened him. 

Ken was different. He was terrified of storms; he would crawl in bed and bury himself beneath the covers. He put up a well enough front—that he was tired, mortified, annoyed that soccer practice be canceled over it—but Aya knew better. He knew _so_ much better.

_"Aya?" _

_The redhead stirred at the call of his name, unaccustomed to the disruption. The voice had beckoned once again, and when he'd looked up—in time with the flashing lightning from outside—he'd taken sight of the Ken, looking small and vulnerable, a coverlet clutched in his hands as he cringed at the rumbling thunder. _

_"Ken?" _

_"Can…I stay?" _

_It had been as random a question as he had ever heard. Especially when neither had ever even been much involved in any type of friendship. He'd figured Ken would have sooner gone to Youji or Omi than come to him. He wondered if the former had pushed him away. "What's wrong?" _

_"I…" _

_The soccer player's next grimace—in time with the thunder—was enough for him to figure out the rest of the man's sentence. "All right." _

_Ken had seemed surprised. Startled, actually. And he had hesitated by the door, unsure of whether he had really agreed for him to enter. "Are you going to just stand there?" _

_"Uh…no…" and softer, "…no…where should I stay?" _

_He lifted up his pillow and blanket to show he'd been planning to sleep somewhere on the floor, and looked towards the redhead in an effort to ascertain where he would be less intrusive. "On the bed." _

_"But you're there." _

_"I can move, if you'd like." _

_He'd looked at him oddly, "No…it's…okay." _

_And he'd approached, looking wary, until he stood beside the bed. He'd dropped his blankets and pillow, hesitantly palming the fabric of Aya's own comforter, until he lifted the covers and pulled himself inside. It was warm, the area having only recently been vacated by the redhead, and smelled distinctly of lavender. Ken was unable to help his intake of breath. _

_"You don't like rain?" _

_The young man shook his head no, burrowing deeper beneath the covers as the storm continued to rage outside. The window had been left open, and he could faintly hear the constant pitter-patter of the rain on the sill. He shivered a little. "I hate it." _

_"Why?" the bed creaked when a weight was pulled off it, and Ken blinked curiously from beneath the covers in time to catch Aya's pale, milky fingertips move to close the window. _

_"Because I do." _

_"I like rain." _

_There was a sleepy nod in reply. "Seems like the kinda thing you would like. All brooding and morose like the rest of you." _

_Somehow, the comment had triggered a smile instead of a scowl. _

"You're not cold?"

Aya shook his head just as he trembled. He cast an odd look at the young man sitting beside him, "Why are you here?"

Chocolate eyes stared back at him blankly, "What do you mean, 'why am I here'?"

"You don't like the rain."

"I don't like it when it _storms_."

By the tone Ken had used, one would think there was a varied and well-known distinction between the two. "There's one coming."

"Let it come, then."

"You're not afraid?"

"Not particularly."

Aya made to comment, question already formulated in his mind, when the brunette waved him away. They sat quietly for a few moments then, Ken humming some odd melody while Aya studied the darkening clouds overhead. Soon, the rain would turn colder and the wind more foreboding. Aya stood. "We should go inside."

"Why?" Ken's fingertips wrapped about the man's wrist, pulling him down back beside him. "The storm's about to start."

"Exactly."

The younger man twined his fingers about Aya's. "So let's wait for it then."

The redhead hesitated. And then, "C'mon, Aya. You only live once."

* * *

They returned hours later, soaked to the bone and shivering, an idiotic smile plastered on the soccer player's lips. "That was fun." 

Aya nodded his reply, wiping his feet on the mat, ignoring Ken's glare. "You're gonna drip everywhere _anyway_."

The brunette peeled off his dark blue tee, walking out towards the porch and wringing it with a bit of a grimace. His sneakers and socks followed, and—with an absent sort of glance at the redhead—his jeans.

Aya watched, enraptured by the brunette's rippling muscle—taking in the smooth, bronze skin—and pushed back his mop of sopping wet hair when it blocked his vision. Clad in cotton navy boxers as he was, Ken chuckled heartily at him. "You always reminded me of a vampire, you know that?"

There was no reply to his comment, merely a few strides, followed by his mimicking of the younger man's actions, as he pulled off his melon-hued turtleneck, struggling slightly at the neck. By the time it was off his body, his hair was certified mess, tousled in every-which-way, and sticking to his scalp uncomfortably. Ken simply studied him with a vague smile, the type that signaled his mind was a million miles away. His boots squeaked as he tugged them off, his socks following suit. He didn't bother with his jeans.

He swore Ken's smile grew at the fact.

He pulled himself on the porch's ledge, bits of rain touching the skin of his warming back, and stared unabashedly at his comrade. He was past the point of caring what Ken thought about his glances. "Omi and Youji are out."

Ken nodded, "Yeah."

Silence fell about them once more.

Ken frowned as he toyed with the tufts of hair that fell into his face. He never liked it when Aya was quiet. Granted, the redhead wasn't the type to blabber on incessantly—as he was wont to do—but, he _wasn't_ adverse to speaking amicably, albeit eloquently, when he was in good company. Ken remembered all those times they would speak—about mindless issues sometimes—and he recalled how much he loved the sound of the redhead's voice. "Aya?"

"Yes?"

The brunette stood, rubbing his hands together against the cold, and moved forward until he was nose to nose with him. Aya blinked at the proximity, not bothering to move away, and raised a brow at what he realized the shorter man was inspecting. "Five o' clock shadow."

Chocolate eyes looked earnestly into his. He gave a slight nod.

"How's about you teach me how to shave?"

_Owari _

_

* * *

_

**_Comments:_**_ Okay, don't shoot me…no, I don't think you're dense…I just sort of hope you noticed the connection between the whole "I didn't know you shaved" and "…teach me how to shave." I hope it makes sense. Really. Honestly. Now clicky the nice little button that reads 'Review.' Go ahead. It doesn't bite. _


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